


the meaning of a mere tone.

by Blistering_Typhoons



Category: Ever After High, Monster High
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Flirting, Fluff, Giles is fine with it, Hexiciah is A Huge Flirt, I have created, I just made it up as I went along, It's all very ridiculous, M/M, One Shot, Riddles, Riddlish, Sexual Humor, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27163106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blistering_Typhoons/pseuds/Blistering_Typhoons
Summary: The meet in Londoom of all places.
Relationships: Hexiciah Steam/Giles Grimm
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	the meaning of a mere tone.

**Author's Note:**

> alternate title: SEMI-LOCAL CYBORG FLIRTS OUTRAGEOUSLY WITH CURSED, HALF-MAD TOURIST.
> 
> Put it this way. I met with both canons, complimented them on their greatness and shook their hands warmly. We all went out for drinks and little by little I suggested. Soon timelines had been thrown in a hat and jostled drunkenly, amidst raucous laughter. I arranges rides for them by the end of the night, hat clutched in my hands.
> 
> They are now both drunk and disoriented and I have thrown the hat into the wash.
> 
> That's what's happened in this fic, and you have been warned. Would you like a drink?
> 
> (Cookie this is all your goddamn fault, hope you're happy.)

They meet each other in Londoom, of all places. 

Giles has barely been in this strange new mirror universe long, and he already finds himself adoring it. The fog here hangs thick and viscous, obscuring even a werewolf's vision. Strange statues and silhouettes lurk in the half shadows, teasing their existence. Carriages rattle past, pale eyes creeping from moving windows.

He takes it all in with a delighted grin, not minding the puddles as they soak into his shoes. The city smells of sewage and decay, offset by vibrant voices echoing from within the mist.

A strange and soaking magic hangs in the air like unwept rain, and it's thick as the humidity settling in his beard. He stumbles aimlessly, a soft bell tolling from somewhere in the fog. He wishes half he knew where he’s going, but he’s not really ever known back home either, so it’s alright.

''Which is a cavern that bakes, but not for the raven eye's sake!'', he exclaims, startling a few deceased looking horses as they canter by.

Of course, the Tower!

Whirling about in the fog, Giles finally flags down a newspaper boy. Gaunt, muddy and cheerful, the sight of an excitable Giles Grimm isn't enough to deter the vampire child from greeting the man with a wide grin and a hopeful 'aright, guv?'

''Which way the butterfly flaps, through dusty night on King's cap?''

The boy, who is a Londoomer and thus well acquainted in all flavours of ridiculous slang bordering upon gibberish, merely beams at him- revealing small incisors.

''Lookin' for the tower, mistah?''

An enthusiastic nod.

''S'right down that way, jus' follow the path. Mind the boards near Mrs. Shelley’s house though- she throws out pens!''

Giles grins and thanks the boy profusely (''The elephant's manner is enchanting, when danced upon the rose's cadaver!''), taking the hint and leaving a small coin in the lad's obligatory tin mug.

Starting off the cracked cobblestones, he peers at the houses around him. He's reminded faintly of a can of sardines, if a can of sardines was a creaking hulk of wood and ghostly exterior decorating- constantly threatening to bend over itself. More eyes peer from grey depths, hollow and curious, but not menacing. No wonder the vampire population here is so vast- he hasn't seen the sun once!

Not that he ever sees the sun normally, but that's all circumstantial and can hardly be helped.

He stops, unable to will his mouth to do the same as it creaks open. 

The Tower is daunting and elegant. Ravens perch upon any edge they can find, mere figures in the mist as they squawk and chatter. The steps are cracked and mossy, a grim entrance to the horrid facade. 

He blows out a breath, turning his gaze towards the statue stood in the courtyard.

He vaguely registers something small and pointy bouncing off the back of his head and clattering to the floor. 

''Men's cards, in vulture shards.'', he mutters absently, translated commonly into 'ouch'.

He steps forward towards the statue. A plague helpfully proclaims it's brooding subject to be WILLIAM SPOOKESPEARE and Giles feels a soft hum of delight bubble in his throat.

Bless unknown cross-universal portals appearing studies. He does so love exploring.

''Marvellous, is it not?'', a voice sounds from his left.

Most likely, the common person startles. Maybe even whips around, indignity clutching their hammering heart like the hand of a scandalized pastor's wife.

For Giles, though, voices materializing from seemingly nowhere is a standard occurrence and one he indulges in from time to time. 

So he turns politely (mostly to benefit the speaker, who has a very lovely voice he admits freely) and takes in his unprompted companion.

A tall, brown-skinned and muscular man smiles back at him from underneath the most luxuriant moustache Giles has ever laid eyes upon. Light green eyes (one iris in the shape of a cog, most intriguingly!) shimmer with a good natured mirth, no trace of mockery whatsoever.

Well, then.

The statue seems almost boring now.

''Which flight takes a fancy, to words of the mere daisy.'', he agrees, hoping he sounds as collected as he doesn't feel.

It's not often he's approached by devastatingly handsome men in foggy, lamp lit courtyards.

Somehow possible, the man's smile widens and he sets a pace around the statue. His walk is measured and open, heaving boots falling gently onto the stones. Something metallic peeks through starkly ironed material and for a moment the man is a glittering apparition in the fog. Giles finds himself staring, which is another standard, but he can usually get himself to stop if he wishes to.

''Well said, good sir. I particularly like the crown, and the ruffles are simply _exquisite_. Very dynamic.'', the mysterious man continues, coming to rest a respectable distance.

Something in that 'exquisite' sounds more melodic than it ought to, guile and soft as it's worded anything but. Giles hums quietly, willing his heartbeat quiet.

A thought strikes him.

''Faintly it becomes to me, the quill is dryer in fantasy.'', he answers, wishing to test a theory.

The man regards him thoughtfully for a second, gaze almost obscenely focused. Giles finds himself thinking of alchemy- blue and green chemicals bathed in clear water, set aflame.

''My wording is poetic? Or have I got it wrong?'', the man finally answers and Giles beams encouragingly.

The man chuckles warmly, the sound reverberating over the cobbles and into Giles’ chest.

''I thank you heartily, sir! I have a fondness for the written word and, I'm bold to add, Riddlish is a most becoming medium for them. A most... _fascinating_ , beautiful language.'', the man says, leftover grin forming into something gentler.

Oh, yes- _Riddlish._

Where sentences have two meanings.

''Hexiciah Steam- a sincere pleasure to meet you.'', the man, Hexiciah, continues.

A beautiful, intricate and golden mechanical hand is extended to Giles. Gears and cogs shift as the fingers tense, machinery whirring gorgeously as it ticks with robotic genius. He’s hard pressed not to gasp in wonder, eyes raking over delicate joints and looping chains. 

Giles looks up into Hexiciah's eyes again. 

They're still edged with pleasantness, but a Grimm knows a challenge when he sees it. There’s a test in this offer. And it’s one borne out of experience. 

_Go on. Shake it and show me who you are._

So he grins and shakes with both hands, jolting slightly at the cold metal.

''Grimm.'', he manages, proud that his tongue doesn’t betray him.

Hexiciah laughs delightedly, shaking back with refined fervour. After a moment they break apart and the cyborg places both hands behind his back once more.

''Pleasure to meet you, Grimm! I must say, it’s not often I’m shaken with such excitement.’’, Hexiciah says, a pleased glimmer in his eyes.

‘’A freight train’s memory stirred, produces equine imagery.’’, Giles exclaims, wincing internally at his enthusiasm.

Hexiciah huffs a startled laugh, something faintly like admiration shimmering in his forest greenveyes.

‘’Why, I’m glad you think so! Made it myself, mostly out of an antique Grandfather clock my mother owned.’’, the cyborg informs him, holding the arm up to the light once more.

_Clever hands._

Giles keeps his eyes firmly on the limb, observing quietly. He wonders absently what it’d look in the sunlight- how it could glitter.

Hexiciah watches him, before he hums, a deep rumble in his broad chest. 

‘’So, what brings a handsome fellow like you to Londoom?'', Hexiciah asks, using the mechanical hand to gesture to their gloomy surroundings.

Giles only just manages to keep from blushing, instead running up to the steps of the tower, whipping around and spreading his hands to indicate the glorious structure.

Hexiciah laughs, not unkindly. Giles is beginning to really like the sound of it. 

''Ah, yes, the Tower! Popular attraction, but more than justified. Do you wish to see inside? I myself can visit it a few thousand times without tiring.'', Hexiciah offers, strolling leisurely towards Giles.

Giles pulls out his trouser pockets- a few coppers and a springed clock springing forth from them. Hexiciah represses a snort, covering his mouth with his flesh hand as he watches the items clatter to the floor.

''My dear man, you really think I'd expect you to pay? I won't hear a word of it- think of me as your guide for this afternoon.'', the cyborg says kindly, coming to stand next to Giles.

''The trees sway- teatime?''

''Yes, it's only afternoon.''

Giles glances sceptically at the darkened sky, trying to picture a sun hiding behind the grey clouds. He gives up with a hum, which Hexiciah evidently takes as an affirmation to pay.

''Excellent! Just give me a moment to arrange everything.'', Hexiciah says, flashing a dazzling grin at him.

The cyborg pats him gently on a scrawny shoulder, before bounding up the stairs. The metal is cold through his coat.

Giles is puzzled. It doesn't happen often.

''Drinking past the green meadow, perhaps the five men pay a shadow?'', he asks to the man's retreating back.

Hexiciah pauses and turns around, a small and gentle smirk on his face.

''Why, sir, the pleasure of your company! What else?''

.

The inside of the Tower is significantly warmer, hazily lit with orange lamps that line the smooth stone walls. Giles observes in great interest, snapping memories into his brain as he treads the soft carpet.

Hexiciah ambles next to him, seemingly content with Giles admiring the surroundings. There’s a comfortable energy between them, warm and strangely light.

''Friendless wings don't flutter in soot, a captured elephant is young in the coop.'', Giles thinks to say, trailing a soft hand over the walls.

''You are very welcome, my dear Grimm. And I agree- you can feel the Old World in here. It's _palpable_.''

Two meanings.

Riddles.

They continue in companionable silence, soft footfalls hardly sounding in the corridor. The occasional rustle of other visitors barely disturbs them, figures passing through other hallways.

‘’Fainting fields aglow, where is the parakeet’s show?’’, Giles asks conversationally.

A flicker passes over Hexiciah’s features, not unpleasant, but startled. Giles watches him closely, intrigued.

‘’Ah, well, the usual. Business and such. More so a favour for a friend. Certainly not as exciting as your endeavour I’m sure.’’, Hexiciah answers easily, hands flexing as they burrow into his trousers.

_Liar._

Giles smiles with a nod of understanding, curiosity seeping into his mind. Hexiciah Steam is proving himself to a most... stimulating companion.

‘’The pastures they wander south, a traveller in the midst of the fossil’s mouth.’’, he states airily, smoothing a hand through his beard thoughtfully.

‘’Anything else of note? My good man, this is Londoom! The very air is worth admiration!’’, Hexiciah exclaims cheerfully.

Giles smirks softly, coming to a slow stop.

‘’Exhume the grace, from demon’s benevolent face?’’

Hexiciah comes to a stop as well, exhaling softly as he turns to look Giles in the eyes.

''Anything specific? Well... perhaps you'd like to see the Crown Jewels?'', Hexiciah all but purrs, seemingly close from almost two feet away.

Giles stares at him.

Hexiciah stares back.

In a universal law prevalent in every world, three seconds pass before they lapse into giggles. 

Barely stifled laughter bounces on the carpet, much to the chagrin of a passing guard. Buries them into the shoulder of his coat and Hexiciah leans lightly on the wall. The tension breaks, but doesn’t lift, even as they come down.

''Terribly sorry, if you can't tell- it has been a good while.'', Hexiciah wheezes out and Giles grins, not even bothering to hide the pleased flush that steals into his hair.

‘’Torrential the classes may be, the united heartbeats they shall seek.’’, he answers.

Hexiciah snorts, non mechanical hand scrubbing over his handsome face. Giles allows himself to not tear his gaze away, sufficient in his belief that the ice has been irrevocably shattered.

‘’Well that’s kind of you to say.’’, Hexiciah says, with a sheepish smile. ‘’I figured I had not been remiss in my attentions thus far.’’

Giles steals a glance out the window.

Londoom glitters below, foggy lights detailing the city’s undead pulse. The mist swallows it all up, dark and welcoming as it hides the shadows from themselves.

Anything can happen.

‘’Grimm? I have not offended you, have I?’’, comes the concerned voice and Giles shakes his head.

‘’Wading through marked sands, will the clock tick it’s own hands?’’

Hexiciah regards him with a frown.

‘’Does...does the offer still- oh.’’

Hexiciah chuckles deeply, coming closer to step by Giles’ side and offers his arm- glowing dully under the psuedo-torches. Giles takes it.

‘’Oh, why yes. I believe it does, my good sir. Are you willing to follow me? I’d love to show you.’’

Hm.

Riddles indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, thank you for making it here. Feedback is greatly appreciated, but have a good day regardless :D


End file.
